Saw of Purpose
by Random Guise
Summary: Based on the 1980 film "The Lathe of Heaven" from the book by Ursula K. Le Guin. George Orr and Heather live in the world that is post-Dr. William Haber shaped. Peaceful. Calm. Idyllic. Immutable. What could be wrong with that? I don't own these characters, but dreams do occasionally give me answers to questions and questions to the answers.


**A/N: A short based on the 1980 movie "The Lathe of Heaven" from the book by Ursula K. Le Guin.**

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Saw of Purpose

"George." The beautiful dark-skinned woman called to the man sitting across the table. George Orr didn't look up from his meal.

"George." Heather LeLache spoke a little louder to her partner to get his attention. He still sat there, holding a spoon into a compartment of some nutrient that might or might not be fish-like. In the year that they had been together, she was well aware that sometimes George seemed to be mentally elsewhere; she didn't take it as a personal slight against her being uninteresting, but rather that it was something unique about the man she had come to love.

But he wasn't going to get off the hook that easy; as a lawyer she had learned to be assertive at times. "George!" she tried again, this time shaking his arm gently until he looked up into her eyes. "Wherever you were, you're back in Portland Oregon again."

George smiled. "I'm always in Portland - probably always will be."

"Is it such a bad place?"

"No, I didn't mean that; Portland is home. I don't want to go anywhere else - everything I want, every_one_ I want, is right here" he said as he placed his hand on hers. He saw the contrast of his pink skin against her brown and thrilled at the difference; the world had been much duller when everyone in the world was gray. "It's safe, comfortable, and nothing ever changes now. I don't worry when I go to sleep that when I wake up things will be different. Nope, just basically the same it's always been."

It wasn't his fault, really. George Orr was a special type of dreamer. Most people slept, dreamed, and - regardless of whether or not they remembered their dreams - when they awoke the world shrugged it's earthen shoulders and resumed life much as it was the day before. But occasionally George would have an effective dream - a dream that would change reality in some manner. He had first noticed it when he was seventeen, and he fought substance abuse in an effort to prevent dreaming, and the subsequent world molding that resulted from his dreams.

On a court order he went to Dr. William Haber, a doctor specializing in dreams and their associated mental problems. After a few sessions, Haber came to realize that George's claims were true and he _could_ change the world. Switching his focus from curing George to using him, Haber had directed George to selectively dream away the planet's problems - only to find that he couldn't control the method that George's subconscious used to solve the problem. In order to facilitate his vision of what was "the greatest good for the greatest number" Haber built a machine that would allow him to effectively dream with no need of George, but the effort backfired and drove him to a mental breakdown.

Despite being "cured" by being told to dream that he couldn't effectively dream anymore, George was able to dream Heather back with a little help from his friend - an alien called E'nememen Asfah that ran a second-hand store where he now worked. After Haber's breakdown, the world was a fractured jumble of realities that had cycled through George's solutions to Haber's suggestions.

But the world was stable now and George has happy in his existence with Heather, he thought as he looked into her eyes. "Sorry," he said "I must have been daydreaming."

"Day dreaming? I thought you only dreamed at night."

"Oh, I don't think I really dream _per se_; it just means that I'm thinking of...of...I don't know, maybe I wasn't thinking at all. You mean you've never daydreamed before?"

"Maybe, but it's been so long since I dreamed I don't know if it was day or night. I haven't had one since..." she thought for a moment "...since before that night when we had the earthquakes and things. You told me it was the night Haber went crazy in his machine."

"You haven't dreamed since then?" George asked, puzzled. "You probably just don't remember them."

"Even if I don't know _what_ I dreamed, I still knew _that_ I dreamed. Before, I mean. You've told me you still dream, but I don't anymore. On the bright side, I can't have any nightmares if I don't dream." Heather shrugged; she had just come to accept it as part of the way the world was now.

George frowned; the idea didn't sit very well with him. He looked around the mostly empty room and saw someone he knew. "Hey Tom" he called out. The other man looked up and waved while exchanging the greeting. "Say Tom, do you dream?"

"Dream? Nah, haven't got time for it. Someone has to help keep the city clean and that broom isn't going to push itself!" He laughed and scooped another spoonful of food into his mouth.

"Heather, I don't know if that's very good. I think Haber said something about people needing to dream to be healthy. I was the only...only..." George started before pausing to think. He put hands on both sides of his head and closed his eyes to think. It was something he had said to Haber...

"Got it" he announced. "I told Haber outside his Oneirological Institute about a wild idea I had that there were a lot of effective dreamers out there changing reality all the time. If he took it seriously, he might have tried to stop everyone from dreaming effectively; maybe he got it wrong and stopped everyone from just dreaming. That could have been it."

"I feel healthy. I'm well rested, I have plenty of energy, and I'm emotionally happy. Maybe he fixed that part too so we didn't need dreaming. Maybe you just worry too much, George. Let's go outside and enjoy the sunlight for a few minutes before you have to get to work." She stood and held out her hand, which George gladly took and they walked out of the dining area together.

Later that day George was dusting some older magazines in the second-hand store called 'Junque' where he worked. The whispering, reedy voice of his boss called out from the back "You seem preoccupied, Jor Jor." At least that's what 'George Orr' sounded like when E'nememen Asfah pronounced it.

"I am. I was thinking about dreaming."

"All intelligence think to dream, and dream to think."

"I dream, but everyone else I ask doesn't. I don't understand it; maybe I never will" George admitted.

"To let understanding stop at what cannot be understood is a high attainment" his boss intoned, if wind rushing through a forest can be said to have a tone. "But to lay down is to run; do not become rooted as a tree."

"Does that mean I need to stop talking and get to work?"

E'nememen Asfah reached below the counter and pulled out a book before offering it stiffly to George with the explanation "Bedtime stories". George took the book without studying it and put it in his satchel before returning to his dusting.

That night, he and Heather lay in bed. With the cool ocean breeze wafting in through the open windows, she snuggled up against his side while they talked. "What do you think it means, that you have to lay down to run? I know they talk in riddles, but I really don't get that one" she asked.

"Well, their English isn't perfect but it hasn't been incorrect before; they just translate their thoughts differently is all. They try to be helpful, but I guess it's up to us to untangle what it means; they don't hand us technology just from asking, they offer insight."

"But we really don't need the technology" Heather said as she yawned and shifted to snuggle closer. "We have everything we need. Nice and comfortable." As George watched, her breathing became slower and she drifted off to sleep.

Carefully, so as not to wake her, he reached over to the nightstand and retrieved the book his boss had given him. The cover had been blank, but inside was a story with drawings and words called Little Nemo in Slumberland. George followed the elaborately drawn story for a dozen pages until he too drifted off to sleep and the book fell flat into his lap.

In his dream, George imagined the whole of humanity slumbered, whether in beds, sleeping bags or curled up in a chair. As he dreamed, he saw the people slept, awoke, slept and awoke in a never changing rhythm with every day the same as the one before. Even Heaven was in the dream; during one of the sleep periods he reassuringly touched her sleeping form and a sparkling of color rippled across the globe, spreading out from Portland like waves from a stone tossed into a still pond. The people dreamed; dreamed of life, of what was and what should be. They dreamed of what had been done, what hadn't, and most importantly some dreamed of a way to bridge the gap between the two. The world subtly vibrated, alive with the anticipation of the day and the opportunity to _do_. And slowly, as dawn broke across the world, he saw people waking, stretching and smiling. It was a good dream, a wonderful dream; a comforting dream.

George awoke and found that it was daylight outside, and the bed beside him was empty except for where his book had fallen. He stretched and pivoted to step out of bed, his bare feet leading the way across the room and to the eating area. He called Heather's name, but the only form of reply he got was when his eyes fell on a note that sat on the table. He picked it up and read it, written in a scrawl that was hurried:

_George - I know the office is usually closed today but I got a call from Sally and Tom both. Everyone was excited to try out some new ideas and thought a lunch meeting on our day off was perfect. Sorry for not waking you, but we were all so worked up I barely have time to write this note and I didn't want to disturb you. Call me at one, sleepyhead. - __Heather_  
_p.s.- remind me to tell you about my dream._

George read the note and smiled. "Maybe mankind is ready to run now" he mused to himself. "The lathe of heaven has been replaced by the saw of purpose. Or maybe the lathe just got moved to our workshop. I could ask E'nememen Asfah, but I wouldn't understand the answer anyway" he laughed to himself.

The End

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**A/N: I didn't read the book, and I'm told the film remake wasn't nearly as good as the 1980 version I saw. But I did enjoy the movie, and the story holds up quite well even if the special effects don't - but then that's the mark of a good story, isn't it?**


End file.
